Color of Violence
by Dexteria
Summary: In a way, it was a fight to the death. ShikaTema Oneshot


Black pooled around the red as ebony hair spilled down olive-colored skin, creating a beautiful palate of colors, one that even those ignorant of art would appreciate.

Long rough fingers sifted through the threads of black, bunching them into spools of a mixture of blood and sand, ignoring the hiss of pain and reluctance echoing through the darkness. With the fluidity of black snakes, strands of hair flowed over the tanner skin with ease, earning a soft guttural groan. To have such softness to exist in the sands, the mere idea of it was _intangible_.

To feel the wetness of their sweat over their bodies, sliding down their curves and muscles, making a show to slip into those freshly open red crevices was _sinful_.

The pain of pearl-white incisors cut into bare shoulders and straining necks was unvoiced, only erupting in bursts of white behind half-lidded eyes, the concept of tears forgotten, instead administrating even more depth, each point making its own mark upon skin. Raspy sounds of breaths punctuated every move, whether they be soft or rough, solid or wet.

In a way it was a fight to the death.

Or at least it had started that way.

There was treachery. There was disbelief. Then there was an exchange of words that did little compared what the two would do with their hands.

And there sure as hell was _violence_.

But after a couple of bloody punches and attempts at strangulations, most of them one-sided, the current stage of violence wasn't enough to sate their satisfactions. Monthly trips to the recommended shrinks did shit and the pills to calm their murderous natures did nothing but put them in states of false, flowery euphoria their jobs would never allow. Not with all that blood and gore, created all too simply with their own hands.

It created a different sense of elation altogether.

She loved the way how she always ended it, admiring the ways the blood blossomed for her as it bled into the sand, sifting through the millions of grains. It bled from the extraneous wounds peppering all over his body. The wind in her reigns knew no boundaries, and it was a form of curiosity as to where a little more pressure _here_ would cause another blood vessel to splice open over _there_.

Even the word 'sadist' couldn't even put it in perspective for anyone.

He hated the way how expiring breaths always found a way to make use of the foul tongue inhabited in their mouths, bubbling with their own blood. Sometimes they cursed his mother, threatened his family, violated his lover in names that he couldn't ignore, no matter how he hated that second blow he had to deliver to get them to shut up.

Only he got to say those things to her.

In the same way how she was the only one who was allowed to see him entirely _bare_, raw emotions pouring forth as she took his face in hers and made those lips bleed with her passion. Every time, they were the victim of her own raw emotions, as well as the rest of his body. She made sure every ache, cut, and ghost of pleasure was felt as hard as hangovers were delivered in the morning.

It was a hell of a wake-up call, but he allowed her to do so, all the same.

Sand-encrusted fingernails embedded into the flesh of her hips, guiding her moves with the raw need of release. Jade-colored eyes fluttered shut as a whispered curse colored the air, decorating the entire scene a bit too well. Thin split lips found it amusing, making blood run down the unshaven chin of its owner as they widened into a smirk before contorting once again. Teeth clenched down in a white enamel cage, holding in the pleasure-induced sounds pounding against them.

The makeshift cage doesn't last for long as her dexterous tongue pays another visit, paying the fare of blood from her own split lips before intertwining with him. The end was near and all they wanted was _more_ of each other, no matter how much their hands pushed against each other in rejection when one of them got too close in the daylight. No matter how far they looked away when the other was in their line of vision.

Fishnets hardly did the job when it came to modesty.

More red was painted as matching sets of callused fingers scrambled for anchorage, already being dictated to do so from hazy minds. A flash of green peeked out behind long lashes, taking in the sight of his angular face, the violence from her written all over his lips and the long neck connecting that beautiful, ingenious mind of his to the rest of him.

Black soon overtakes the momentary flash of color, but dark-brown eyes open a half a second after, taking in the violence of his work on her face. Blonde wisps of hair frame her face, the very same ones he had taken to himself to liberate from her childish up-do. The bruise of his defensive uppercut was blatant in the swell lacing her chin. Even so, his breath hitched when he saw that devilish smile painted across her lips.

It was the last thing he saw before a sudden burst of white filled his vision.

It was pure and never-ending, dragging out their bereft visions for a couple of moments.

Red, Green, Black, Brown.

They did it all for this moment.

For this violence of White.


End file.
